Then, caressingly smoothing the flushed face of the delirious man, he murmured soothingly:
“Don’t fret yourself. Your enemies are gone; you are with friends now. I’ll take care of you.”
“Who are you?”
The bright eyes opened very wide.
“Don’t you know me?” Bradford asked, anxiety in his tone and manner.
“Yes—yes, I know you, Joe Farley. Of course I know my old friend. I was sure you would come back. But where is Bright Wing?”
“He’ll be here soon,” answered Bradford, sighing deeply.
“And Duke—surely he hasn’t deserted me—where is Duke?”
At mention of his name, the hound crept forward and licked his master’s hand. The dumb caress appeared to soothe and assure the sick man more than anything else could have done. For, with a sigh of contentment, he closed his eyes and whispered feebly:
“Oh, yes! Duke, old fellow, you are still with me. You’ll not let the Winnebagoes return and scalp me. Watch over me, good dog, for I’m sleepy—sleepy——”